


The Story He Will Tell

by Anonymous



Category: The Kid (2019)
Genre: Capture, First Time Blow Jobs, Historical Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sheriff Pat Garrett visits Billy the Kid in his cell. Billy decides to give him something to think about on long, lonely nights.





	The Story He Will Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Please Note: This fic was written from the trailer alone. I haven't seen the movie, but feel free to yell at me about it in the comments.

Night had fallen over the prairie, draping the tiny frontier towns in black-white darkness that only the moon’s pale shine really cut through. Cold wind blew, soft enough not to howl when it scraped along the bank’s corners or the saloon’s balcony. But it was damp, heavy with rainfall yet to come, and crept in around Billy’s wrists and ankles, where the shackles lay heavy against his skin.

He was alone. They’d thrown him in the cell ‘round back, away from the weapons, keys and valuables kept in the sheriff’s office, because they didn’t trust him not to crack the ordinary locks. The small space they’d stuck him in was damp and stank of wet hay, but there was a barred window above his head that let some light in. No cot, no blanket. Outside the heavy, metal-framed, wooden door, the guard sucked on his chewing tobacco and, from time to time, spat the remains into the grass.

Billy leaned against the wall, head tilted against the cold stone, and watched the moon. It was full-bellied and nearly as round as wheel of cheese. As soon as the thought popped into his head, his stomach rumbled.

In the distance, a door slammed shut. It sent a shiver along the wall for Billy to feel against his shoulder blades.

Steps thumped outside, first below his tiny window and then in front of the door. After a short, hushed conversation, a key rattled in the lock and the door swung open to reveal a black-coated figure with a silver star glinting on his lapel. Billy’s lips curled at the edges. _Someone_ was burning the midnight oil.

He rose to his feet, wiping the smile off his face, lest the good sheriff saw. “Come to check up on me?”

Sheriff Garrett stepped into the cell, letting the door swing shut softly behind him. Outside, the guard shuffled his feet, probably to resume his position right in front of the only exit.

“Billy.”

“That’s me. At long last, eh?” Billy grinned. “How’s it feel, sheriff?”

“Not the first time I’ve got you in chains,” said Garrett.

“Yeah. And here I thought you’d learned from your mistakes.”

The sheriff didn’t rise to the bait. “Noose’s waiting for you outside,” he said, without any inflection to his voice: no nervousness, but no arrogance either. Clearly, he had not come to gloat. But why else would he be here, then?

The question piqued Billy’s curiosity. Like a mouse running from a cat, it roused his hunting instinct. Time to put on a little bit of pressure – just to see how much the sheriff would give. “Have heard that before.” He took a step into the room, no, _sauntered_ , and spread his arms. “But here I am, still alive.”

To his satisfaction, Garrett didn’t even flinch. “I’ll make sure you’ll be there, right on time.”

Billy laughed. “You do that, sheriff.”

“You think I won’t?”, Garrett asked, gritting his teeth. His hands, previously still by his side, curled into fists. “You think you’re gonna walk right out of here again, like last time?” With two steps, he bridged the distance between them. “I’m telling you, you won’t. Because right now, I have you.” His hands came up, grabbing Billy by the collar and shoving him back, back against the cold stone wall. “I _have_ you.”

Rough edges dug into Billy’s shoulder blades, hard enough that it would have cut him if he hadn’t been wearing his shirt and vest.

Garrett’s blue eyes were alight with fury, ready to carry out Billy’s sentence all on his own should justice, inexplicably, fail him again.

Billy glanced down at the hands on his throat, the elbows pinning him to the wall, and then at the empty room. No witnesses. Ha. “It matters the story they tell when you’re gone,” he murmured.

The sheriff’s eyebrows drew together. “What?”

Billy shifted his weight, only a little bit, but enough to push his hips ever so slightly forward into Garrett’s solid form. Just enough to make the sheriff aware of their position. The man’s eyes widened and Billy’s mouth curved into a sly smile. “What are you going to do with me, now that you have me, sheriff?”

“I–”

Sheriff Garrett swallowed hard.

Billy lifted a hand – careful, as if not to spook a deer – and lowered it gently onto the sheriff’s shoulder, curling slightly against his biceps. Under his thick jacket, the man was strong. Lean and muscled; a man familiar with hard work and the worth of it. Maybe also a man who saw the worth in purposeful lack of enjoyment, during the work. Shame.

Billy never did things he didn’t enjoy, any more. There was no better way to waste life, in his opinion, and if he only got one shot in this hellhole of a country, he was going to take everything he could.

The sheriff’s eyes met his, alert now. His fingers worked against Billy’s throat, but didn’t loosen their grip. “What are you doing?”

A flush had spread up his neck and Billy cocked his head at the sight, grin widening. He leaned in so his breath could ghost over the sheriff’s ear. “All work and no play makes Pat a dull boy.”

“Quit that,” Garrett ordered weakly.

Excitement squirmed in Billy’s belly. He slid both hands down the sheriff’s arms, from his shoulders to his elbows and his wrists, until he reached his hands; dry with dust, split with work and wet in the creases. Sweaty. Billy gently curled his own over them. “How about you let me go, sheriff?”

Garret’s throat worked. He hesitated.

“It’s your cell, your town. Your men are out there, guarding the borders right now so I won’t escape,” Billy coaxed. “How many? Twenty? More? And I’m still right here. You _have_ me.”

It was working: the sheriff swallowed and slowly uncurled his hands. They fell to his side, useless.

Triumphant, Billy’s fingers found his collar instead, smoothing the lapels before tracing the silver star with feigned reverence. Buttons bumped his fingers, moving with the quickening rise and fall of the sheriff’s chest. Further down, his gaze caught on the belt and buckle. It was hard to see in the dark, but just a moment ago, he’d felt the faint stretch of fabric there.

He sunk to his knees.

“Billy,” the sheriff said sharply, grabbing his hair.

Billy tensed, going still, instinctively bracing for a slap. Or worse.

A moment passed. When nothing happened, he dared to exhale. Carefully, he put both hands on the sheriff’s knees, sliding them up, over his strong thighs. The view was a lot better form here, where the moonlight shone right in his face.

Billy licked his lips, keeping them slightly parted so Garrett could see the wetness shine there. The hitch of breath it got him made the smirk threaten to crawl over his face again. “You seem tense, sheriff,” he said softly, fingers sliding higher, over the fine fabric, into the slit where the pieces overlapped. He traced the bulge he found there, focusing on the folds, where the warmth seeped through.

The sheriff’s hand in his hair relaxed.

Billy let his bangs fall over his eyes, briefly, to cover the way he could no longer stop his lips from twitching. It took a moment to school his face back to innocence. He still deemed it best to avoid eye contact – not for what he might find in the sheriff’s, but what the man might find in Billy’s. Instead, he opened the trousers in front of him with deft fingers and parted the fabric.

Without taking it in hand, he leaned in, laying his tongue flat against the underside of the flared head that poked out.

The sheriff exhaled a rush of air, hissing between his teeth, but didn’t stop him. His hands, still in Billy’s hair, trembled; probably with second thoughts. Well, tough for him, it was too late for that, Billy thought viciously and put his mouth over him, taking him down completely, filling his throat. It took all his self-control not to gag; it had been a while since the last time he’d done this. But the move was at least unexpected enough to make the sheriff gasp. A shudder traveled down his body, and his hips gave an involuntary thrust.

Billy took it. He let his throat loosen and thought of nothing – not the bitten-off pants and moans above him, the hand in his hair that tightened every time he drew back, flicking the pulsing tip with his tongue, and not the sweaty, grimy smell clinging to the sheriff’s coarse hair. It didn’t take long for the man to find a rhythm. His movements grew more fluid, rolling with the pleasure, and soon enough Billy learned to expect it. He focused on breathing through his nose. Spit smeared his lips, gathering until it ran down his chin, slicking the glide. A salty tang spread over his tongue.

Suppressing his own moan, he dropped one hand into his lap, squeezing carefully. The single touch alone was enough to make him want to whimper; nothing out in the world could arouse him so quickly, so thoroughly, as this.

He flicked his eyes up, in case the sheriff had caught on, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He had thrown his head back, eyes closed. Was he thinking of his wife, who had definitely never gifted him her mouth? Or a saloon girl, who might have, for the right price?

The thought sparked something in Billy. He couldn’t describe it: a moment of unwillingness, perhaps, that twinged in his guts and made him act on impulse. He let his jaw twitch ever so slightly, teeth grazing the throbbing flesh in his mouth.

Sheriff Garrett cried out, eyes flying open, wide and startled as he sought out Billy’s gaze – and Billy just grinned. Not with his mouth, because that was still stuffed full, red swollen lips stretched wide around too much cock to really fit, but he knew the sheriff could see it bright as day in his face.

The result was instantaneous. The sheriff gasped and tensed, hips jerking, and a rush of bitter, sticky fluid flooded Billy’s mouth. He drew back enough to swallow quickly, twice, _thrice_ , to get it all down. Even so, drops spilled out the side of his mouth as he gently suckled the shrinking tip, laving it with his tongue before gathering up all the wetness again. He only sat back when it was fully cleaned, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Then he sensuously, slowly, rubbed his palm against the swell in his own pants. It was for show – he might be achingly hard, but he could bear it for a moment longer. Just as intended, the movement drew the sheriff’s eye, and as if a spell had lifted, his face fell in horror.

He gathered up his soft cock and stuffed it back into his pants, setting himself to rights with haste before retreating, backwards, to the door. His eyes were as wide as a startled hare’s. If Billy looked close enough, he was sure he could see his nostrils flare with every sharp, shocked breath.

The sheriff’s shoulder hit the door frame and he jumped. His head swiveled to check for threats, before whipping back to Billy. He jabbed a finger in his direction. “This, this… this never happened,” he blurted, hand on the door, eyebrows drawn together in the first stirrings of self-righteous anger.

“Sure it didn’t, sheriff,” Billy said easily, and took his hand off his erection. He put it flat on his thigh instead, as if nothing had happened – but he couldn’t keep the coyote’s smirk off his face.

Sheriff Garrett’s face paled. He was obviously grasping for something to say, but couldn’t find anything. His gaze swept Billy one last time, then he turned and hurried out.

From his position against the opposite wall, Billy could hear the door bolt and lock clicking into place, followed by voices. He wondered what the sheriff would tell them, before dismissing the thought. Sheriff Garrett was an honest man on a bad day, and a man of his word. Among them most prominently: _It doesn’t matter what’s true._

Billy listed to the side, sliding along the wall until his shoulder hit the floor. He twitched onto his back, so he could look up at the moon, and slid his hand into his pants. On his lips, he could still taste the last of the sheriff’s salty spill, and a slow smile spread over his face.

Now there was a part of the story no one was going to tell about Billy the Kid.


End file.
